Miss Mink's Soldier and Other Stories by Alice Hegan Rice

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MISS MINK'S SOLDIER

AND OTHER STORIES

[Illustration: Then Miss Mink received a shock]

MISS MINK'S SOLDIER

AND OTHER STORIES

BY

ALICE HEGAN RICE

Author of "MRS. WIGGS OF THE CABBAGE PATCH," "MR. OPP," "CALVARY ALLEY,"
ETC.

NEW YORK
THE CENTURY CO.
1918

Copyright, 1905, 1906, 1910, 1918, by THE CENTURY CO.

Copyright, 1914, by THE CROWELL PUBLISHING COMPANY

_Published, October, 1918_

TO
THE LADY OF THE DECORATION

A MEMENTO OF MANY HAPPY DAYS
SPENT TOGETHER "EAST OF SUEZ"

CONTENTS

MISS MINK'S SOLDIER

A DARLING OF MISFORTUNE

"POP"

HOODOOED

A MATTER OF FRIENDSHIP

THE WILD OATS OF A SPINSTER

CUPID GOES SLUMMING

THE SOUL OF O SANA SAN

MISS MINK'S SOLDIER

Miss Mink sat in church with lips compressed and hands tightly clasped
in her black alpaca lap, and stubbornly refused to comply with the
request that was being made from the pulpit. She was a small desiccated
person, with a sharp chin and a sharper nose, and narrow faded eyes that
through the making of innumerable buttonholes had come to resemble them.

For over forty years she had sat in that same pew facing that same
minister, regarding him second only to his Maker, and striving in
thought and deed to follow his precepts. But the time had come when Miss
Mink's blind allegiance wavered.

Ever since the establishment of the big Cantonment near the city, Dr.
Morris, in order to encourage church attendance, had been insistent in
his request that every member of his congregation should take a soldier
home to Sunday dinner.

Now it was no lack of patriotism that made Miss Mink refuse to do her
part. Every ripple in the small flag that fluttered over her humble
dwelling sent a corresponding ripple along her spinal column. When she
essayed to sing "My Country, 'Tis of Thee," in her high, quavering
soprano, she invariably broke down from sheer excess of emotion. But the
American army fighting for right and freedom in France, and the Army
individually tracking mud into her spotless cottage, were two very
different things. Miss Mink had always regarded a man in her house much
as she regarded a gnat in her eye. There was but one course to pursue in
either case--elimination!

But her firm stand in the matter had not been maintained without much
misgiving. Every Sunday when Dr. Morris made his earnest appeal,
something within urged her to comply. She was like an automobile that
gets cranked up and then refuses to go. Church-going instead of being
her greatest joy came to be a nightmare. She no longer lingered in the
vestibule, for those highly cherished exchanges of inoffensive gossip
that constituted her social life. Nobody seemed to have time for her.
Every one was busy with a soldier. Within the sanctuary it was no
better. Each khaki-clad figure that dotted the congregation claimed her
attention as a possible candidate for hospitality. And each one that
presented himself to her vision was indignantly repudiated. One was too
old, another too young, one too stylish, another had forgotten to wash
his ears. She found a dozen excuses for withholding her invitation.

But this morning as she sat upright and uncompromising in her short pew,
she was suddenly thrown into a state of agitation by the appearance in
the aisle of an un-ushered soldier who, after hesitating beside one or
two pews, slipped into the seat beside her. It seemed almost as if
Providence had taken a hand and since she had refused to select a
soldier, had prompted a soldier to select her.

During the service she sat gazing straight at the minister without
comprehending a word that he said. Never once did her glance stray to
that khaki-clad figure beside her, but her thoughts played around him
like lightning. What if she should get up her courage and ask him to
dinner, how would she ever be able to walk out the street with him! And
once she had got him to her cottage, what on earth would she talk to him
about? Her hands grew cold as she thought about it. Yet something warned
her it was now or never, and that it was only by taking the hated step
and getting it over with, that she could regain the peace of mind that
had of late deserted her.

The Doxology found her weakening, but the Benediction stiffened her
resolve, and when the final Amen sounded, she turned blindly to the man
beside her, and said, hardly above her breath:

"If you ain't got any place to go to dinner, you can come home with me."

The tall figure turned toward her, and a pair of melancholy brown eyes
looked down into hers:

"You will excuse if I do not quite comprehend your meaning," he said
politely, with a strong foreign accent.

Miss Mink was plunged into instant panic; suppose he was a German?
Suppose she should be convicted for entertaining a spy! Then she
remembered his uniform and was slightly reassured.

"I said would you come home to dinner with me?" she repeated weakly,
with a fervent prayer that he would decline.

But the soldier had no such intention. He bowed gravely, and picked up
his hat and overcoat.

Miss Mink, looking like a small tug towing a big steamer, shamefacedly
made her way to the nearest exit, and got him out through the
Sunday-school room. She would take him home through a side street, feed
him and send him away as soon as possible. It was a horrible ordeal, but
Miss Mink was not one to turn back once she had faced a difficult
situation. As they passed down the broad steps into the brilliant
October sunshine, she noticed with relief that his shoes were not
muddy. Then, before she could make other observations, her mind was
entirely preoccupied with a large, firm hand that grasped her elbow, and
seemed to half lift her slight weight from step to step. Miss Mink's
elbow was not used to such treatment and it indignantly freed itself
before the pavement was reached. The first square was traveled in
embarrassed silence, then Miss Mink made a heroic effort to break the
ice:

"My name is Mink," she said, "Miss Libby Mink. I do dress-making over on
Sixth Street."

"I am Bowinski," volunteered her tall companion, "first name Alexis. I
am a machinist before I enlist in the army."

"I knew you were some sort of a Dago," said Miss Mink.

"But no, Madame, I am Russian. My home is in Kiev in Ukrania."

"Why on earth didn't you stay there?" Miss Mink asked from the depths of
her heart.

The soldier looked at her earnestly. "Because of the persecution," he
said. "My father he was in exile. His family was suspect. I come alone
to America when I am but fifteen."

"Well I guess you're sorry enough now that you came," Miss Mink said,
"Now that you've got drafted."

They had reached her gate by this time, but Bowinski paused before
entering: "Madame mistakes!" he said with dignity. "I was _not_ drafted.
The day America enter the war, that day I give up my job I have held for
five years, and enlist. America is my country, she take me in when I
have nowhere to go. It is my proud moment when I fight for her!"

Then it was that Miss Mink took her first real look at him, and if it
was a longer look than she had ever before bestowed upon man, we must
put it down to the fact that he was well worth looking at, with his tall
square figure, and his serious dark face lit up at the present with a
somewhat indignant enthusiasm.

Miss Mink pushed open the gate and led the way into her narrow yard. She
usually entered the house by way of the side door which opened into the
dining room, which was also her bedroom by night, and her sewing room by
day. But this morning, after a moment's hesitation, she turned a key in
the rusty lock of the front door, and let a flood of sunshine dispel the
gloom of the room. The parlor had been furnished by Miss Mink's parents
some sixty years ago, and nothing had been changed. A customer had once
suggested that if the sofa was taken away from the window, and the table
put in its place, the room would be lighter. Miss Mink had regarded the
proposition as preposterous. One might as well have asked her to move
her nose around to the back of her head, or to exchange the positions of
her eyes and ears!

You have seen a drop of water caught in a crystal? Well, that was what
Miss Mink was like. She moved in the tiniest possible groove with her
home at one end and her church at the other. Is it any wonder that when
she beheld a strange young foreigner sitting stiffly on her parlor sofa,
and realized that she must entertain him for at least an hour, that
panic seized her?

"I better be seeing to dinner," she said hastily. "You can look at the
album till I get things dished up."

Private Bowinski, surnamed Alexis, sat with knees awkwardly hunched and
obediently turned the leaves of the large album, politely scanning the
placid countenances of departed Minks for several generations.

Miss Mink, moving about in the inner room, glanced in at him from time
to time. After the first glance she went to the small store room and got
out a jar of sweet pickle, and after the second she produced a glass of
crab apple jelly. Serving a soldier guest who had voluntarily adopted
her country, was after all not so distasteful, if only she did not have
to talk to him. But already the coming ordeal was casting its baleful
shadow.

When they were seated opposite one another at the small table, her worst
fears were realized. They could neither of them think of anything to
say. If she made a move to pass the bread to him he insisted upon
passing it to her. When she rose to serve him, he rose to serve her. She
had never realized before how oppressive excessive politeness could be.

The one point of consolation for her lay in the fact that he was
enjoying his dinner. He ate with a relish that would have flattered any
hostess. Sometimes when he put his knife in his mouth she winced with
apprehension, but aside from a few such lapses in etiquette he conducted
himself with solemn and punctilious propriety.

When he had finished his second slice of pie, and pushed back his chair,
Miss Mink waited hopefully for him to say good-bye. He was evidently
getting out his car fare now, searching with thumb and forefinger in his
vest pocket.

"If it is not to trouble you more, may I ask a match?" he said.

"A match? What on earth do you want with a match?" demanded Miss Mink.
Then a look of apprehension swept over her face. Was this young man
actually proposing to profane the virgin air of her domicile with the
fumes of tobacco?

"Perhaps you do not like that I should smoke?" Bowinski said instantly.
"I beg you excuse, I--"

"Oh! that's all right," said Miss Mink in a tone that she did not
recognize as her own, "the matches are in that little bisque figure on
the parlor mantel. I'll get you to leave the front door open, if you
don't mind. It's kinder hot in here."

Five o'clock that afternoon found Miss Mink and Alexis Bowinski still
sitting facing each other in the front parlor. They were mutually
exhausted, and conversation after having suffered innumerable relapses,
seemed about to succumb.

"If there's any place else you want to go, you mustn't feel that you've
got to stay here," Miss Mink had urged some time after dinner. But
Alexis had answered:

"I know only two place. The Camp and the railway depot. I go on last
Sunday to the railway depot. The Chaplain at the Camp advise me I go to
church this morning. Perhaps I make a friend."

"But what do the other soldiers do on Sunday?" Miss Mink asked
desperately.

"They promenade. Always promenade. Except they go to photo-plays, and
dance hall. It is the hard part of war, the waiting part."

Miss Mink agreed with him perfectly as she helped him wait. She had
never spent such a long day in her life. At a quarter past five he rose
to go. A skillful word on her part would have expedited matters, but
Miss Mink was not versed in the social trick of speeding a departing
guest. Fifteen minutes dragged their weary length even after he was on
his feet. Then Miss Mink received a shock from which it took her an even
longer time to recover. Alexis Bowinski, having at last arrived at the
moment of departure, took her hand in his and, bowing awkwardly, raised
it to his lips and kissed it! Then he backed out of the cottage, stalked
into the twilight and was soon lost to sight beyond the hedge.

Miss Mink sank limply on the sofa by the window, and regarded her small
wrinkled hand with stern surprise. It was a hand that had never been
kissed before and it was tingling in the strangest and most
unaccountable manner.

The following week was lived in the afterglow of that eventful Sunday.
She described the soldier's visit in detail to the few customers who
came in. She went early to prayer-meeting in order to tell about it. And
in the telling she subordinated everything to the dramatic climax:

"I never was so took back in my life!" she said. "After setting there
for four mortal hours with nothing to say, just boring each other to
death, for him to get up like that and make a regular play-actor bow,
and kiss my hand! Well, I never _was_ so took back!"

And judging from the number of times Miss Mink told the story, and the
conscious smile with which she concluded it, it was evident that she was
not averse to being "took back."

By the time Sunday arrived she had worked herself up to quite a state of
excitement. Would Bowinski he at church? Would he sit on her side of the
congregation? Would he wait after the service to speak to her? She put
on her best bonnet, which was usually reserved for funerals, and pinned
a bit of thread lace over the shabby collar of her coat.

The moment she entered church all doubts were dispelled. There in her
pew, quite as if he belonged there, sat the tall young Russian. He even
stepped into the aisle for her to pass in, helped her off with her coat,
and found the place for her in the hymn-book. Miss Mink realized with a
glow of satisfaction, that many curious heads were craning in her
direction. For the first time since she had gone forward forty years ago
to confess her faith, she was an object of interest to the congregation!

When the benediction was pronounced several women came forward
ostensibly to speak to her, but in reality to ask Bowinski to go home to
dinner with them. She waived them all aside.

"No, he's going with me!" she announced firmly, and Bowinski obediently
picked up his hat and accompanied her.

For the following month this scene was enacted each Sunday, with little
change to outward appearances but with great change to Miss Mink
herself. In the mothering of Bowinski she had found the great adventure
of her life. She mended his clothes, and made fancy dishes for him, she
knit him everything that could be knitted, including an aviator's helmet
for which he had no possible use. She talked about "my soldier" to any
one who would listen.

Bowinski accepted her attention with grave politeness. He wore the
things she made for him, he ate the things she cooked for him, he
answered all her questions and kissed her hand at parting. Miss Mink
considered his behavior perfect.

One snowy Sunday in late November Miss Mink was thrown into a panic by
his failure to appear on Sunday morning. She confided to Sister Bacon in
the adjoining pew that she was afraid he had been sent to France. Sister
Bacon promptly whispered to her husband that he _had_ been sent to
France, and the rumor spread until after church quite a little group
gathered around Miss Mink to hear about it.

"What was his company?" some one asked.

"Company C, 47th Infantry," Miss Mink repeated importantly.

"Why, that's my boy's company," said Mrs. Bacon. "_They_ haven't gone to
France."

The thought of her soldier being in the trenches even, was more
tolerable to Miss Mink than the thought of his being in town and failing
to come to her for Sunday dinner.

"I bet he's sick," she announced. "I wish I could find out."

Mrs. Bacon volunteered to ask her Jim about him, and three days later
stopped by Miss Mink's cottage to tell her that Bowinski had broken his
leg over a week before and was in the Base Hospital.

"Can anybody go out there that wants to?" demanded Miss Mink.

"Yes, on Sundays and Wednesdays. But you can't count on the cars running
to-day. Jim says everything's snowed under two feet deep."

Miss Mink held her own counsel but she knew what she was going to do.
Her soldier was in trouble, he had no family or friends. She was going
to him.

With trembling fingers she packed a small basket with some apples, a jar
of jelly and a slice of cake. There was no time for her own lunch, so
she hurriedly put on her coat and twisting a faded scarf about her neck
trudged out into the blustery afternoon.

The blizzard of the day before had almost suspended traffic, and when
she finally succeeded in getting a car, it was only to find that it ran
no farther than the city limits.

"How much farther is it to the Camp?" Miss Mink asked desperately.

"About a mile," said the conductor. "I wouldn't try it if I was you, the
walking's fierce."

But Miss Mink was not to be turned back. Gathering her skirts as high as
her sense of propriety would permit, and grasping her basket she set
bravely forth. The trip alone to the Camp, under the most auspicious
circumstances, would have been a trying ordeal for her, but under the
existing conditions it required nothing less than heroism. The snow had
drifted in places as high as her knees, and again and again she stumbled
and almost lost her footing as she staggered forward against the force
of the icy wind.

Before she had gone half a mile she was ready to collapse with
nervousness and exhaustion.

"Looks like I just can't make it," she whimpered, "and yet I'm going
to!"

The honk of an automobile sent her shying into a snowdrift, and when she
caught her breath and turned around she saw that the machine had stopped
and a hand was beckoning to her from the window.

"May I give you a lift?" asked a girl's high sweet voice and, looking
up, she saw a sparkling face smiling down at her over an upturned fur
collar.

Without waiting to be urged she climbed into the machine, stumbled over
the rug, and sank exhausted on the cushions.

"Give me your basket," commanded the young lady. "Now put your feet on
the heater. Sure you have room?"

Miss Mink, still breathless, nodded emphatically.

"It's a shame to ask anyone to ride when I'm so cluttered up," continued
the girl gaily. "I'm taking these things out to my sick soldier boys."

Miss Mink, looking down, saw that the floor of the machine was covered
with boxes and baskets.

"I'm going to the Hospital, too," she said.

"That's good!" exclaimed the girl. "I can take you all the way. Perhaps
you have a son or a grandson out there?"

Miss Mink winced. "No, he ain't any kin to me," she said, "but I been
sort of looking after him."

"How sweet of you!" said the pouting red lips with embarrassing ardor.
"Just think of your walking out here this awful day at your age. Quite
sure you are getting warm?"

Yes, Miss Mink was warm, but she felt suddenly old, old and shrivelled
beside this radiant young thing.

"I perfectly adore going to the hospital," said the girl, her blue eyes
dancing. "Father's one of the medical directors, Major Chalmers, I
expect you've heard of him. I'm Lois Chalmers."

But Miss Mink was scarcely listening. She was comparing the big luscious
looking oranges in the crate, with the hard little apples in her own
basket.

"Here we are!" cried Lois, as the car plowed through the snow and mud
and stopped in front of a long shed-like building. Two orderlies sprang
forward with smiling alacrity and began unloading the boxes.

"Aren't you the nicest ever?" cried Lois with a skillful smile that
embraced them both. "Those to the medical, those to the surgical, and
these to my little fat-faced Mumpsies."

Miss Mink got herself and her basket out unassisted, then stood in doubt
as to what she should do next. She wanted to thank Miss Chalmers for her
courtesy, but two dapper young officers had joined the group around her
making a circle of masculine admirers.

Miss Mink slipped away unnoticed and presented herself at the door
marked "Administration Building."

"Can you tell me where the broken-legged soldiers are?" she asked
timidly of a man at a desk.

"Who do you want to see?"

"Alexis Bowinski. He come from Russia. He's got curly hair and big sort
of sad eyes, and--"

"Bowinski," the man repeated, running his finger down a ledger, "A.
Bowinski, Surgical Ward 5-C. Through that door, two corridors to the
right midway down the second corridor."

Miss Mink started boldly forth to follow directions, but it was not
until she had been ejected from the X-ray Room, the Mess Hall, and the
Officers' Quarters, that she succeeded in reaching her destination. By
that time her courage was at its lowest ebb. On either side of the long
wards were cots, on which lay men in various stages of undress. Now Miss
Mink had seen pajamas in shop windows, she had even made a pair once of
silk for an ambitious groom, but this was the first time she had ever
seen them, as it were, occupied.

So acute was her embarrassment that she might have turned back at the
last moment, had her eyes not fallen on the cot nearest the door. There,
lying asleep, with his injured leg suspended from a pulley from which
depended two heavy weights, lay Bowinski.

Miss Mink slipped into the chair between his cot and the wall. After the
first glance at his pale unshaven face and the pain-lined brow, she
forgot all about herself. She felt only overwhelming pity for him, and
indignation at the treatment to which he was being subjected.

By and by he stirred and opened his eyes.

"Oh you came!" he said, "I mean you not to know I be in hospital. You
must have the kindness not to trouble about me."

"Trouble nothing," said Miss Mink, husky with emotion, "I never knew a
thing about it until to-day. What have they got you harnessed up like
this for?"

Then Alexis with difficulty found the English words to tell her how his
leg had not set straight, had been re-broken and was now being forced
into proper position.

"It is like hell, Madame," he concluded with a trembling lip, then he
drew a sharp breath, "But no, I forget, I am in the army. I beg you
excuse my complain."

Miss Mink laid herself out to entertain him. She unpacked her basket,
and spread her meagre offerings before him. She described in detail all
the surgical operations she had ever had any experience with, following
some to their direst consequences. Alexis listened apathetically. Now
and then a spasm of pain contracted his face, but he uttered no word of
complaint.

Only once during the afternoon did his eyes brighten. Miss Mink caught
the sudden change in his expression and, following his glance, saw Lois
Chalmers coming through the ward. She had thrown aside her heavy fur
coat, and her slim graceful little figure as alert as a bird's darted
from cart to cot as she tossed packages of cigarettes to right and left.

"Here you are, Mr. Whiskers!" she was calling out gaily to one. "This is
for you, Colonel Collar Bone. Where's Cadet Limpy? Discharged? Good for
him! Hello, Mr. Strong Man!" For a moment she poised at the foot of
Bowinski's cot, then recognizing Miss Mink she nodded:

"So you found your soldier? I'm going back to town in ten minutes, I'll
take you along if you like."

She flitted out of the ward as quickly as she had come, leaving two long
rows of smiling faces in her wake. She had brought no pity, nor
tenderness, nor understanding, but she had brought her fresh young
beauty, and her little gift of gayety, and made men forget, at least for
a moment, their pain-racked bodies and their weary brains.

Miss Mink reached her cottage that night weary and depressed. She had
had nothing to eat since breakfast, and yet was too tired to prepare
supper. She made her a cup of tea which she drank standing, and then
crept into bed only to lie staring into the darkness tortured by the
thought of those heavy weights on Bowinski's injured leg.

The result of her weariness and exposure was a sharp attack of
tonsilitis that kept her in bed several weeks. The first time she was
able to be up, she began to count the hours until the next visiting day
at the Camp. Her basket was packed the evening before, and placed beside
the box of carnations in which she had extravagantly indulged. It is
doubtful whether Miss Mink was ever so happy in her life as during that
hour of pleased expectancy.

As she moved feebly about putting the house in order, so that she could
make an early start in the morning, she discovered a letter that the
Postman had thrust under the side door earlier in the day. Across the
left hand corner was pictured an American flag, and across the right was
a red triangle in a circle. She hastily tore off the envelop and read:

Dear Miss Mink:

I am out the Hospital, getting along fine. Hope you are in the same
circumstances. I am sending you a book which I got from a Dear Young
Lady, in the Hospital. I really do not know what to call her because
I do not know her name, but I know she deserve a nice, nice name for
all good She dose to all soldiers. I think she deserve more
especially from me than to call her a Sweet Dear Lady, because that
I have the discouragement, and she make me to laugh and take heart.
I would ask your kind favor to please pass the book back to the
Young Lady, and pleas pass my thankful word to her, and if you might
be able to send me her name before that I go to France, which I
learn is very soon. Excuse all errors if you pleas will. This is
goodby from

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